


Presence of Mind

by Hildigunnur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Legilimency, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Occlumency, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-10
Updated: 2007-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hildigunnur/pseuds/Hildigunnur
Summary: Ron faces death, unless he can, with the help of Snape, unleash a trapped memory inside his mind.





	Presence of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015. 
> 
> Author's notes: Written for Team Slash at Triatharon 2007 which was hosted on LJ. My deepest thanks to kaalee for the encouragement and advice and I owe sarka and aome a lot for helping me making this story actually readable.

He inhaled sharply, the air burning his lungs like he hadn't been using them, as if he'd been dead and then awakened; he hardly felt his limbs and there was a sour taste of vomit in his mouth. Lying still, he struggled to keep to the consciousness he had regained, not daring to open his eyes. Not yet ready to think where he was and what had happened, only wishing that the first thing he would see when he opened his eyes would be the smiling faces of Harry and Hermione – or his parents, maybe.  
  
Soon his grasp on consciousness became steady and, as he opened his eyes, the slow realization of what had happened seeped in, knotting his guts into a big ball of dread.  
  
Slowly raising his aching head from the filthy mattress he had been resting on, he could swear that he felt it. The alien presence of what Voldemort had planted in his mind. It was more than the memory of feeling him delve into his mind, invading his private thoughts, more than still feeling the stinging burn from the ropes that had bound him, more than remembering Bellatrix Lestrange sneering at him from behind Voldemort's back, more than the numbing fear he had felt. It was very tangible and it made him want to fucking die.  
  
Perhaps he should be grateful for that. It was his fate after all, the only way to unseal it. The only way Harry could possibly win.  
  
The only thing he could do was to wait.  
  
*  
  
"Up!"  
  
He didn't know how he had managed it but the command had made him sit up straight. There was life in his body after all.  
  
The speaker wasn't as amazed by his regained strength. Unceremoniously he hoisted him up and had him standing on unsteady legs like a newborn Mooncalf, then threw his arm over his shoulders and pulled him into a side-along Apparition.  
  
His reflexes were still too slow for the unpleasant effects of the chosen travelling mode. In his mind, he had yet to respond to the request to rise.  
  
As soon they had reappeared, his companion dragged him away from the Apparation point, holding him under his arms, not waiting for him to walk on his own.  
  
His mind refused to grow any clearer despite his best efforts; there were only a handful of things that weren't fuzzy in his mind, things he needed to forget but couldn’t: images of Voldemort’s snake-like eyes and the intruding memory festering, almost taking root. He was hardly aware of his surroundings though they should have been familiar; that dusty pavement, the grime-covered buildings and the menacing -- looking town house they had stopped in front of.  
  
"Stand on your feet, Weasley." The man dragging him had let go and propped him up against a doorframe. It was only then that he could muster enough lucidness to look at the man's face.  
  
"You ..." he croaked, looking at watching Severus Snape knocking on the door. Jerking his right arm in an attempt to punch him, Ron fell sideways onto the doormat of 12 Grimmauld Place.  
  


*

"I think he's awake."

He was pretty sure that he hadn't been out for long, perhaps he hadn't been out at all. In any case he was lying on his back in the foyer of 12 Grimmauld Place, resting his head on the doormat, and a nervous-looking Hermione was staring at him. Not exactly the perfect fulfilment of his wishes but good enough for now.

Before he had the chance to even blink, someone had hoisted him up again into a bone-crushing hug.

"I thought I had lost you, mate."

For a fleeting second, he could almost forget what had happened and what had to be done, and allow himself to rejoice with his friend at their reunion.

That passed quickly and he twisted himself out of Harry's embrace and shrugged Hermione off.

"I ..." his voice failed him.

Harry and Hermione both looked worried.

"Did something happen?" Hermione asked tentatively.

A nasty voice inside him wanted to give her an insincere answer, telling her that he and Voldemort had just been playing Snakes and Ladders while drinking hot cocoa. In all honesty he wanted to hide the truth from them. He didn't want to burden them with what had happened and he felt ashamed that it had happened at all, that he'd been captured in the first place. It was almost painful how much he wanted silence on the matter to be the best option, and he admitted to himself that it wasn't just because he wanted to spare his friends; he didn't want to die. He wanted to be there, by Harry's side, to the bitter end.

Unfortunately his own bitter end was nigh.

"Is anyone else here?"

He tried to look beyond them, into the dark hallway. Hermione shook her head.

"Someone would have tried to follow Snape then," Harry said in a strained voice. "But everyone is in the field right now. We are here only because we'd been ordered not to move until we knew what had happened to you."

His heart sank even further at Harry's words. Everything was being jeopardized because he had been an idiot who'd got himself caught and used as a pawn.

And, like a pawn, he had to be sacrificed.

*

They were so considerate, not pressing him for any details about what had happened; there was no hint of any annoyance. Harry had insisted on cooking something and they sat over of a bowl of steaming beef stew.

Chewing the slightly sinuous pieces of beef, Ron was almost relieved that they didn't have to talk. An excuse not to tell them yet and therefore warding off their inevitable disappointment.

But with every passing second Harry was kept in the dark, and the odds on Voldemort winning grew rapidly.

He had to swallow his fate.

"Something happened, you know, while I was... I was captured. Something with You-Know... Voldemort, that is to say...." His throat tightened as Harry and Hermione regarded him with furrowed brows.

"Voldemort knows we were searching and trying to destroy his Horcruxes. And he found a way to hide one of them... uh, really well."

"Wait, how would you know if he had gone and hid one of the Horcruxes better? That doesn't make sense," Hermione said, frowning.

"He didn't go anywhere to do it, and there’s a reason why I know what has to be done to find it." He saw apprehensive looks on their faces.

"Go on," Harry said, the tiniest hint of a tremble in his voice.

"You see... he hid the knowledge of the location inside my head, inside a memory... something I can't recall... and you know Voldemort... he... yeah... takes care of things." He had to stop, his voice tethering somewhere between sobbing and nervous giggling, but Harry and Hermione took no heed of that.

"What do you mean? Voldemort took care of things? How?" Harry's tone was practically demanding, enough for Ron not to risk giving him a vague answer.

"Harry, you have to kill me. It's the only way."

This was met with a deafening silence. Harry's face was twisting into a look of stunned horror and Hermione had hid most of her face in her hands, only her tear-filled eyes peering over her fingers.

"Ron, what do you mean? That's absolutely ridi..." Harry finally managed, in a croaky voice.

"Like I would joke about something like this," Ron cut him off, not attempting to give thought to how his heart was beating in his chest and how he felt the palms of his hands grow clammy with sweat. "I don't know exactly how he managed this but he used some kind of Legilimency and the Fidelius Charm. He was in my bloody head, Harry, and you know that isn’t something you joke about. So if you want to find that Horcrux, I need to die. Harry, he knew I'd take my own life if I had to so you could find that Horcrux."

The tears were starting to stream down Hermione's face and he had to turn away from her, staring instead on the ridges in the wood of the kitchen table.

"So he made sure that if I'd kill myself, the curse, or what you can call it, would still work. The Horcrux would remain hidden. Someone will have to kill me."

A loud bang echoed, startling him and preventing him from explaining further. Harry had jumped up, knocking his chair over.

"Fuck... just... " Harry's anger and frustration were almost tangible. On the other side of the table Hermione was crying.

He was burning up with something stronger than mere guilt; he wished he could take it all back. While he had known it would be hard and painful to tell them, his imagination hadn't stretched far enough and it was so overwhelming that he couldn't stand it any longer. Getting up, he avoided looking at his friends and hoped that they would allow him leave, to find the darkest corner in the house to hide.

Harry threw out his arm as Ron was about to pass him.

"Ron... don't..."

He couldn’t look Harry in the eyes, which were full of tears now. So they stood there, each one refusing to look at the other.

"There has to be a way." Hermione broke their trance. She was still crying but her mind had already started working on the problem. "Legilimency and Fidelius are magic. Almost all magic can be countered in one way or another."

"But we don't have a competent Legilimens anymore. Dumbledore is dead. The only others I know about are Voldemort and Snape. A fat lot of good Snape will do us."

Maybe because Harry had sounded irritated with her, Hermione purposely ignored him. She kept on about how they would find a way, somehow.

Her persistence was calming.

Taking his chair again Ron tried not to give thought to that modicum of relief he had felt after telling them, and he certainly tried to not entertain any hopes that they would figure it out.

He just had to wait.

*

A couple of days passed before the core of the Order had learned about this machination – that was the word Hermione preferred to use when she was explaining it. The majority frowned in disbelief before accepting that they would never jest about something like this. Mrs Weasley, on the other hand, broke down sobbing right away.

The whole thing made Ron feel like he lived in a bubble, as if he had a terminal disease and no one dared to speak of it in front of him.

They talked about him a lot, he knew that, but every time he was certain that they were going to sit down to discuss him, someone – usually Harry or Fred and George –suddenly had to talk to him about Quidditch or neat magic tricks. Harry was even desperate enough once to try to discuss Ginny with him.

But there came a time when Bill and Kingsley Shacklebolt were no longer able to look him in the eye and he knew that an agreement had been reached.

The permanent knot in his stomach grew bigger; he felt like a rubber band, stretched tight.

So he snapped.

*

The door to the kitchen was closed and an Imperturbable Charm had been cast. Once again, 12 Grimmauld Place was full of secrets and once again it was a prison to someone.

Harry, who should have known, who should have understood, attempted to move him away from the heavy wood door.

That was the last straw.

"Just fucking kill me already! What is there to fucking discuss? How you are going to kill me? I'm not good enough for the Killing Curse? Is that it?" It all poured out of him as he pushed Harry again and again.

Harry didn't answer back, just allowed himself to be pushed backwards until finally his back hit the wall and Ron kept hitting his chest.

"It's the only way, you bloody well know that, and I think I should be allowed to know what's happening since it's me who needs to be killed. I would have thought you'd understand."

"Ron, I understand," Harry whispered, like it would be too painful for him to speak any louder. "Haven't you noticed I'm avoiding this as well?"

"Can't bear to listen to them planning my funeral?"

"Well, it comes down to either your funeral or mine."

That stung him and he stepped away from Harry.

"I'm sorry."

Again there was no reply from Harry. There was no need. Harry had thrown his arms around him and Ron allowed himself the smallest sigh of regret.

*

As much as he wanted to accuse them of stalling and prolonging his torment, he realised that it was his own sense of time gone awry, that everything seemed to going by at a snail's pace.

He had started sneaking out, wandering around the streets in North London, even sitting on the Circle Line for three whole circles.

While swaying side to side in the rickety train car, he stared intently at his hand, trying to see if he had turned into a ghost already without noticing that he had died. It was wishful thinking; he still felt that memory, that foreign object in his mind and only his death would relieve that.

He stood up when the train approached King's Cross, intending to mindlessly following the stream of commuters, but a hand locked around his wrist and pulled him out of the flow just as he exited the car.

Without looking he tried to jerk away but the grip grew tighter and then he saw who was holding him.

Snape.

*

Sitting in a north-bound train on its way from King's Cross, it felt a bit like he was going to Hogwarts again. Except he had never ridden on the Hogwarts Express with Snape sitting across from him.

His first instinct had been to run away, though it gave way quickly as he realised there could only be two reasons why Snape was seeking him out.

Snape was either going to kill him or help him.

Either way, he was relieved.

Snape hadn't told him where they were going, but, thankfully, Muggle trains had little flashy signs in the train cars telling the destination, as well as a monotonous woman's voice welcoming them aboard and telling them that the journey to Leeds would take just under three hours.

"Why didn't you take me along into a side-along Apparition like before?"

He had to wait for the reply as Snape saw the need to straighten the collar on his long, black overcoat before answering.

"Because there's an anti-Apparation perimeter around King's Cross and I wasn't going to risk being seen with you above ground in London. You realise, boy, that what I'm about to do is strictly against the Dark Lord's wishes."

Ron had thought as much.

"Why?"

"Why what, Weasley?"

"Why are you going against You-Know-Who's wishes?"

The corners of Snape's mouth were pulled up into a joyless smirk.

"Think, boy."

He felt his face turning red. It wasn't like he was complete idiot; he knew Snape had some other agenda than serving Voldemort but he still wanted to know why. There might be no chance of Snape telling him why he had done other things, like killing Dumbledore, but Ron had entertained the hope that maybe he would explain why he was secretly taking them up north.

Trying a different strategy, he simply asked where they were going.

At first he got a terse "Leeds." Then, after pressing more, "Home."

Ron ceased trying, wondering whether Snape might have grown up there or, for that matter, simply liked Leeds that much. It was actually rather hard to imagine that Snape belonged anywhere other than in the archways of the Hogwarts dungeon.

He certainly never would have thought that Snape lived in a sooty end-house on a gloomy street leading up to an abandoned factory with a huge chimney. Yet it was fitting, in a way.

Ron wasn't sure what to expect when he stepped inside after Snape. It could have been the dusty, dark grandeur of Grimmauld Place, it could have been the knick-knacks and the worn comfort of the Burrow or it could have been the plastic-covered sofas and the doilies he had seen at 4 Privet Drive. But when he saw the reality, he almost chastised himself for not knowing exactly how it had to be. A tiny living room filled with enough books to keep Hermione occupied for months, hidden doors leading to an equally tiny kitchen and rickety stairs.

Snape didn't busy himself with playing host.

"I didn't bring you here to kill you, Weasley, even though it would be a lot easier for us both." Snape took a seat in an armchair while directing Ron to sit on a worn sofa. "I could have done that right away rather than bringing you to Grimmauld Place in the first place. Despite the Dark Lord's express ban on touching even so much as a hair on your head."

"So what are you going to do with me? Wanted a companion to enjoy your days of evildoing and Wormtail's social calendar was too full?"

It might have been his imagination but he could have sworn a grin played on Snape's lips for a fleeting fraction of second.

"Listen, Weasley, I don't have much patience for half-arsed wittiness from you. We have work to do and, even though I believe that no one, neither the Dark Lord nor the Order, knows or could think that I have you with me here, we shouldn't tempt fate merely on that account.

"I'm going to attempt to break whatever barriers were set up in your mind, not because I have any reason for wanting you to live but because I don't trust the Dark Lord to have been fully honest when he said that your death would break the Fidelius Charm as it normally does."

Ron didn't dare to interrupt him, instead recalling the cruel smile on Voldemort's lips as he was touching his sweaty temples and how much pleasure he had taken in telling him that only his death could make it possible for Harry to ever have a chance to win.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Well, I managed to get you all the way here without you putting up a fight. You seem to be trusting me so far."

He was absolutely right. Ron had gone with him, without a complaint almost, merely wondering about his reasons for killing Dumbledore.

"I've been waiting to die for weeks now. The how's and when's stop mattering when people start treating you like you are dead already. I was sure I'd walk into my own wake every time I entered the kitchen in Grimmauld Place."

"Barking up the wrong tree, boy, if you are looking for sympathy."

"I knew I could count on you for the niceties, Snape."

With that, they came to some kind of an understanding.

*

On the odd chance that Snape would actually manage to dislodge the hidden memory and Harry would triumph over Voldemort, Ron thought that this would make an amusing tale to tell his nieces and nephews in the future; how he had stayed in the childhood bedroom of his former Potions Professor while they worked on messing with his mind.

Ron was relieved that Snape didn't feel the need to comment much on what he apparently saw in Ron's mind. Perhaps it was because most of it didn't come as a surprise to him.

On the other hand, Snape felt irritated with the lack of progress they were making. He didn't explain it to Ron in so many words but he gathered that seeing how easily Snape could access everything, it puzzled him not to find even a trace of the planted memory.

"It shouldn't be this difficult," said Snape as they were taking a break from what had been a rather torturous session for Ron – or possibly both of them. Snape had just uncovered the rift with Harry during fourth year and it had been a challenge for Ron to hold it together while he had been forced to relive the hurt and anger towards Harry. Ron simply nodded, using the free moment to answer a concerned - sounding owl that Hermione had sent him. She'd had the presence of mind to write it in code and it took a good deal of concentration on Ron’s part to be able to do the same. He'd rather write: _The vampire bat still trying to suck everything out of me. No luck yet. Suspect my blood is too thick_.

"Have you had any training in Occlumency, boy?" Snape's direct question shook him out of his reverie and caused him to make a big ink splodge on his parchment.

"No, and I would like to be without that, thank you. I saw what it did to Harry, and besides, wouldn't that be going against what we are trying to do here?"

"Hmm, you are labouring under the belief that Legilimency and Occlumency are true opposites. I'd rather say that they are different sides of the same coin, if you can appreciate the difference. You see, while the Dark Lord is an excellent Legilimens, Occulumency hasn't been as much of a forte of his. It was one of the reasons why he didn't realise right away the danger of his mental link to Potter."

"And what has that to do with training me in Occlumency?"

Snape sighed, exasperated.

"Because perhaps if you could guard your conscious mind - the part of your memories you know are there – with even a smidge of Occlumency, it might be easier for me to access those hard to reach places, so to speak."

"Sounds more like you are going to give me a good scrub down." He meant it in fun, but he couldn't help but detect some kind of discomfort in the way Snape shifted in his seat.

*

It didn't take them long to realise that Ron would never master Occlumency in any way.

"Gryffindors!" Snape snarled after a long day where he had managed to break through Ron's mental block on every try. "It's all about feelings with you lot and no discipline to be had."

Ron, on the other hand, was starting to get desperate, wondering whether this was simply prolonging the inevitable. On the whole, it wasn't that bad to stay there with Snape but since he had been so foolish to have been captured by the Death Eaters in the first place, it would probably have been for the best if Voldemort had killed him right away. At least more humane for him.

Snape finally gave up on teaching him complete Occlumency and instead had him concentrating on feeling one emotion at a time while Snape invaded his mind, making it easier for Snape to follow up on a limited number of memories and thoughts. He noticed how following up on joy and love made Snape look a bit sour, more so than usual. For him it had been rather nice to do those emotions and reminiscing about his friends and family.

It was harder to do anger, fear and jealousy. There were so many things that he wanted to forget. It shamed him to remember how his relationship with Lavender had begun and it was a cause for some wry remarks from Snape.

"So it's Miss Granger, then?" Snape said, like he wanted to make idle conversation as they were eating dinner, – fried sausages with baked beans, – but Ron was feeling strangely listless.

"What about her?"

"You like her."

"'Used to' would be more accurate," said Ron, which was more than he really wanted to admit.

"Used to?"

"Yeah."

"Care to explain how these apparently strong feelings for her, which caused you to act rashly in bouts of jealousy, have now vanished?" The tone in Snape's voice was smooth, perhaps a bit too smooth.

"Things happened. I think we realised that we were meant to be just friends. I'm not saying it didn't take time but there were things to distract us. Like helping Harry and yeah... other things."

There was an unnerving look on Snape's face, a certain glint in his black eyes and a smile on his lip which was almost mischievous.

"Come on, Weasley, I'm in your head every day. What other things?"

There were things that Ron had vowed never to speak of out loud, as that way so he could pretend they didn't exist. Though what he had experienced in these last few days had taught him that really didn't work at all.

"I don't want to talk about it. If you are so curious, then just go and poke around for them," he spat out, annoyed. He was not going to tell Snape that he thought he might like boys as well as girls. That was something no one needed to know.

*

The next day when Snape told him on what feelings he should focus this time around, Ron was convinced that he had to be suspecting something.

It was even more awkward than he had thought, to concentrate on lust when he knew that Snape would see it all. There was no way that he could make all the inappropriate fantasies about his mates vanish before they would be invaded.

And it was like Snape couldn't wait. He had hardly begun to focus when Snape was in there, seeking, probing. It was like Snape immediately picked out any image or memory of the girls he had lusted after. Just as they were going into a particularly juicy and memorable wet dream about a threesome with Fleur and Angelina Johnson, it gave away to Madam Rosmerta's ample bosom which turned almost right away into a nameless witch he had seen in a girlie magazine he had found in the twins' stuff. But Snape did not seem to dwell on these memories at all, quickly casting each one aside.

This was frustrating but it was easier to concentrate, perhaps due to the nature of the feelings. The images flowed like a river and, soon enough, Snape had found the forbidden section he was apparently seeking.

Somewhere between the image of sucking off Viktor Krum under the Quidditch stands and being pleasured by the drummer from The Weird Sisters, Ron became keenly aware of his body, how much he longed to be touched, how turned on he had become.

Each memory and thought stayed longer as Snape appeared to revel in them, intently exploring a fantasy in which Ron was on his back, being thoroughly fucked by Oliver Wood.

Ron was now leaning back on the sofa, almost clawing the threadbare cover, his breathing laboured.

The fantasy being played in his mind changed. As the imaginary Oliver was about to hoist Ron's legs onto his shoulders, he morphed into Snape.

To Ron, it felt as natural as all the other transitions.

But he clearly felt Snape's mental halt, how he had stopped searching the memory. A sense of panic stirred in Ron's lust-heavy mind, a fear of his wrath.

And then Snape left his mind.

He didn't dare to open his eyes right away, his limbs almost paralyzed, his skin hyper-sensitive.

The armchair squeaked as Snape rose. He waited for Snape to put his wand to his neck, in fury and mortification.

"Open your eyes, boy."

There was no anger in his voice so Ron dared to look. Snape was standing over him, the black robes making him even taller than he was and making Ron feel about two inches tall himself. Even though he had been chastised by Snape countless times, he had never before felt so ashamed, so vulnerable.

The apology was on his lips when Snape pulled him up by the shoulders, almost in the same unceremonious way as he’d done when he’d taken him to Grimmauld Place.

But the businesslike manner was gone, and there was something burning in his eyes, causing Ron to swallow almost embarrassingly loud.

"Afraid?"

Ron's mouth was now completely dry; he couldn't even form the answer in his mind. His arms, however, seemed to be controlled by something other than his mind, as he flung them around Snape's neck. Hell, his whole body was ruled by the lust that boiled in his veins, as he pressed it against the entire length of the other man.

It was enough encouragement for Snape to kiss Ron, an almost bruising kiss, and it was enough for him to hike up Ron's shirt and pull it over his head.

Ron reciprocated by nearly pulling off the buttons and the clasp of Snape's robes. Everything was frantic and desperate, like they didn't want to stop and contemplate what they were doing.

As soon as they were naked, Snape sat down on the sofa, pulling Ron towards him by the hips, not hesitating in taking Ron's already hard cock in his hands. He smoothed over the head, pulling the foreskin a little bit back before giving him a good stroke towards the base, while as Ron whimpered and jerked his hips, seeking the friction of Snape's rough palms.

He almost opened his mouth to complain when Snape let go of him but thought better of it when Snape then took his cock between his lips. Instead of the rough palms it was the heat of the mouth and the texture of Snape's tongue causing him to cry out.

Snape's hands traced over the skin on his hipbones, holding him steady as he moved his mouth and tongue over the length of Ron's cock, taking him to the brink with an alarming speed.

Ron grabbed Snape's head, weaving his fingers through his hair, holding his head in place, clinging to him, not wanting it to end.

But he wasn't controlling the ride and Snape wasn't allowing him to come yet.

Giving him a last suck, he then rose from the sofa and looked him straight in the eyes; Ron felt Snape’s rough hand again on him and Snape's cock aligned with his.

The mixture of Snape's almost coarse hands and the smooth underside of his cock against his own made Ron hiss through his teeth.

"Almost there?" Snape's voice was audibly deeper than usual, sending electric bolts down Ron's spine, making him shiver. He couldn't answer, only gave a frantic nod.

"Look into my eyes, don't close them." Snape was commanding but Ron couldn't see how he was going to achieve it, wanting to arch back his neck in near ecstasy.

Then he felt it; Snape was inside his mind, searching, but he couldn't concentrate on what he was searching, for all he could feel, all that his senses allowed for, was the sensation of Snape's cock sliding against his, the large hand pumping them both, pushing him closer to completion.

He couldn't manage to keep eye contact; as every muscle in his body grew tense he couldn't stop himself from pulling his head back and feeling every nerve ending in his body light up as the orgasm shook him.

And something unlocked in his head. All of a sudden a small, golden cup appeared, wrapped in dirty cloth, and it was stowed away behind a large boiler in the cellar of a big, derelict house and somehow he knew the address.

Gasping from the climax, he grabbed Snape's shoulders hard, looking him in the eyes.

"I know where it is."

He couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn there was a genuine smile on Snape's face.

*

They didn't waste time by taking the train back to London. Almost immediately after they got dressed and freshened up, they Apparated there.

Ron ran all the way from the Apparation point to Grimmauld Place, not looking when he crossed the street, and almost being run over by a speeding Vauxhall Astra.

He didn't even try to steady his fingers enough to press the door bell but beat hard on the door instead. Not realising that it was just past midnight, he kept up the loud beating until Snape caught up with him to stop him.

"Easy, Ron, allow them to get downstairs. Hopefully you aren't trying to raise the dead."

Even in his agitated state, he noticed Snape calling him by his first name – actually his nickname – and it was strangely pleasant, like Butterbeer warming his belly on a cold day.

He allowed himself a little smile which turned into a big grin as someone finally opened the door.

"We've got it," he shouted even before he saw who had opened. To his luck it was Harry, who soon had a big grin to match.

*

Sitting at the kitchen table with Harry and Hermione across from him he couldn't help thinking of the scene a few weeks earlier, with Harry and Hermione looking just as anxious as before. He'd had to deliver slightly edited news, but it was a lot more pleasant having to skip on the details of him and Snape having sex than Voldemort torturing him. There was no denying that.

-fin  



End file.
